


Tear Down The Walls

by folkful



Series: Joar and Viraven being Nasty [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blackmail, Branding, Come Marking, Fantastic Racism, Hurt No Comfort, Joar really wants to commit war crimes, M/M, Men Crying, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Sexual Abuse, Trauma, Violent sexual fantasies, and its kind of obviously a thing by now, at least a brief 'discussion' regarding it, for fucks sake someone give revyn a god damn hug, hello and welcome back to your regularly scheduled "windhelm sucks" content, if i understand that term correctly, im truly a disgrace to dunmer porn, implied at least - Freeform, in addition to the current rape, seven stories in and we finally get some use of 'sera', the violent kind not the capitalism kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folkful/pseuds/folkful
Summary: While his housecarl is away, the Dragonborn invites a special guest to Hjerim.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Revyn Sadri
Series: Joar and Viraven being Nasty [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057886
Comments: 24
Kudos: 16





	Tear Down The Walls

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to read the tags. This one gets really dark, it's like half porn, half vent. I don't find anything Joar does okay to do irl.
> 
> Sorry if it's poorly written or edited, I've had a lot to deal with this past week. 
> 
> Comments, feedback, and ideas are all very much welcomed!

One day and one night every week, Joar's housecarl was away from Hjerim.

He had not yet taken advantage of this fact, as he was usually either drinking at Candlehearth Hall those nights, or out on jobs for the Jarls, or the Companions, or whoever else was paying enough.

But this week, he felt like doing something else entirely.

He had been unable to get the pawnbroker, Revyn Sadri, out of his head ever since their first encounter, on the night he had found so many of his hidden sides. In very separate ways, they had been each other's firsts.

Joar had fucked, before, many times. But he found it generally bored him. He didn't know what all the talk was about, not when it was so dull. At a basic level, it was all just rhythm and motion, like some sort of strange dance, and he'd never been much for dancing, either. It wasn't until the interrogation he'd realised what had been missing from it. The power, the violence. 

Perhaps that was why he kept returning to Sadri.

Perhaps that was the reason he found himself standing outside the door to his shop, now, in broad daylight.

As it turned out, there was no one in the store aside from Sadri. He would have had no problem waiting for any other patrons to leave, if only because he knew of the effect his presence had on the merchant. As soon as the elf saw him, as he stepped through the doorway, his face fell. Like most people, Sadri put up a wall while he worked, and Joar could practically see its bricks crumble to dust.

The merchant was quiet for a long moment, and the Nord was much the same, each seemingly waiting for the other to speak. Sadri was the one to finally break the silence.

"What do you want?" His voice was forcibly even, monotonous, unwilling to give away the apprehension that was still so obvious, body holding tense. "It's...it's still open."

It took some restraint not to just lock the door behind him, like he had in the Cornerclub, and bend him over the counter again, or the boxes in his storage room.

"You will meet me at my home tonight." Joar put one hand on the elf's own across the wooden counter, and Sadri withdrew it quickly, going red. "It's the place Calixto Corrium used to hole up in, in Valunstrad. You know it, yes?"

"Y-yes, but-"

"You'll do it, I said. After you close down for the night, you'll come straight there, if you know what's good for you."

Sadri nodded, eyes downcast, and Joar found he was impressed at himself, at how fast he had broken him in.

He took one step back as he heard the door open once more. The elf tried to gather himself, but the Nord could tell he was still a little shaky, the wall put up too quickly, lacking a stable foundation. He remained there for a bit, watching the merchant discuss prices with the white-haired Dark Elf woman who had interrupted them. Sadri's eyes caught his several times, nervously averting the gaze whenever Joar would smile or move even the slightest.

He left the merchant alone, eventually, returning to his own part of the city.

The rest of the day passed agonisingly slowly. He spent most of it chipping away at a few bottles of mead, answering tedious letters. He was glad to have the place to himself, even if he was only doing business. Silence was a thing he saw all too little of these days, convenient as it was to have Calder around. Surely one of the many advantages to being a Thane was the increased security, and Calder was as true a Nord as anyone would have to be, in order to be recommended by Ulfric himself.

He found himself increasingly distracted by thoughts of the night that would come, paying little attention to his work. It would all be easier, taking the elf here. The houses were sparser, the walls thicker. He doubted anyone would hear them, even if he made the elf scream. And he had time, here. Time to do whatever he felt like, to do things slowly, if he wanted. He craved it, almost. Sadri was so vulnerable, so sensitive. And he was falling into his place so quickly, learning to obey his superiors. 

He had no doubt that the merchant would do as he'd been told, that he would be at Joar's door, because if he wasn't, the Nord would only hurt him worse.

If he'd learned anything from his time handling both Thalmor and Imperial soldiers, it was that very few things were as persuasive as the promise of pain. And he'd followed up on such promises many times, to get information, or directions, or just to have a vessel for his frustration or stress.

He thought, now that he knew exactly what he wanted to do to those wretches, he could find some interesting new ways to torture them.

Well into the evening, there was finally a hesitant, gentle knock on the door. By then, Joar had changed into something more comfortable, and set up a few things inside the bedroom.

He let the elf linger outside for a little bit before opening the heavy front door. The night was cold, and he found Sadri was shivering on the doorstep, wearing a tattered coat over his clothing, one which was not nearly enough to keep anyone properly warm. Joar stepped aside, letting him into the house, and shutting the door behind him. Hjerim had a rather large fireplace, but even if that wasn't enough, Joar would warm Sadri to the bone soon.

"If you let anyone notice you, you'll regret it."

The elf nodded, something absent about his expression.

"Good."

The Nord helped the merchant out of his coat, and then watched as he removed his worn boots.

Revyn Sadri looked almost painfully malplaced in Hjerim. The house was fit for a Thane, and the Dragonborn, and the elf looked strangely small there, so clearly not belonging. Joar rarely saw him outside of his cramped pawn shop, the cracked walls and floor, the stacked crates. It felt somewhat like taking a stray into a King's palace.

The merchant was looking around, all nerves, arms crossed and posture hunched. Joar loosened his arms by force, taking hold of his left hand, looking him up and down. He was still fully clothed, and he'd get to remain so until they were upstairs. Joar leaned in, feeling Sadri's body go stiff, pressing their mouths together, nipping at the elf's lower lip. He reached around, his free hand settling on the merchant's slim ass, squeezing hard, only to mess with him.

"C'mon." He began moving toward the stairs, still holding onto Sadri's hand. The elf let himself be led through Hjerim, up the wooden steps, into Joar's large bedroom. There was no sound aside from both of their breathing, and the slight creak of his sturdy floor. Joar took in the sight of Sadri, wanting to do everything at once, feeling mad with the prospect of it all. He pulled his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor, noting the way the other flinched when he moved his arms, seeming afraid the Nord would strike him.

He did not, not yet, because the mead had left him in a languidly indulgent mood. Things would get to take their time, because he had nowhere to be, and if Sadri had somewhere to be...well, that was nothing Joar cared much about. So he sat down on his bedside, beckoning the elf sternly. This, too, was a contrast, one that so clearly showed their places in the world. He recalled Sadri's bed, the cracks in the frame, the weak, dry wood. So different from Hjerim's near-decadence, the expensive linens, the ornately carved headboard. He wondered if the merchant was thinking of it, too.

"Stay still." Joar began to undo Sadri's belt, hearing his breathing quicken, looking everywhere except at the Nord. He allowed that, for the moment, getting the elf out of his long tunic and running a hand over his chest, gentle but unyielding. There were no marks left on his gray skin - it had been too long, truly.

Sadri was acting a little different, though, a little too resigned, clearly trying to take himself someplace else. Joar would not let him succeed with that. He stood up again, and the merchant managed only to take a step backwards before Joar slapped him, hard. The force of the blow rocked his head back, enough that the Nord imagined it might make his ears ring. Sadri gasped, more from the sudden movement than anything else, brow furrowing. His eyes were trained on the floor. Joar took hold of his shoulders, but did not push, only left it a looming presence.

"S-sera, what did I do wrong?"

He knew the word, and its meaning, and he was more than a little unsure of whether he felt angered at being referred to in the gray-skin's own language, or approved of the gesture of respect.

There would be time to make up his mind.

"You're not  _ here _ ."

Sadri blinked, clearly confused, a bruise blooming on his cheekbone.

"What...what am I supposed to do?" His voice was weak, and he'd taken on a tone somewhere between afraid and indignant. "If I do anything else, you'll only harm me."

"What you're supposed to do is be polite. Is it really that hard for you? Focus. And don't be rude."

He did finally push on his shoulders, making him lie down on his back on the bed. Moving less gently now, he got rid of both his own and Sadri's trousers, as the elf stared at the ceiling. He himself was not wearing anything underneath them, but the merchant was. Joar discarded the garment quickly, leaving them both bared. Sadri had clearly not expected this change in pace, and he was giving Joar a wary look from beneath his dark lashes. The Nord sat down over the elf's torso, putting most of his weight on the bed to spare the other's ribs. Then, he reached for something resting on the sheets. A long strip of cloth, one he had planned to use much later into the night, but a kind of punishment he had already managed to earn.

"Close your eyes." Sadri shuddered, but obeyed, and Joar maneuvered the elf's head so that he could tie the fabric over his eyes, effectively blinding him. The merchant looked utterly small like this, and Joar knew from experience - on both sides - that having one sense taken away only strengthened the others, made one more alert and more sensitive. And this was clearly a development that frightened Sadri a lot, with the way he gripped onto the bed-sheets to keep himself from trying to remove the blindfold, and the way he shook slightly beneath the Nord. It was strangely alluring, just like every distressed reaction he could cause in the elf. He no longer felt like being patient. He moved further up on Sadri's body, moving the merchant's head once more and silently forcing him to open his mouth, unceremoniously shoving two fingers between his teeth.

"Open up. Remember what I told you last time, mind the teeth."

Sadri paused, seeming as though he wanted to say something, but in the end, he did as he'd been told, Joar replacing his intruding fingers with his cock, rapidly stiffening to the sight of the bruise and the blindfold, the naked body underneath him, the rise and fall of his chest.

Like last time, the elf was clearly disgusted with the forced entry, slow as it was. The Nord decided that for the moment, he would make do with Sadri's untrained mouth. Joar found a rhythm and stuck to it, the merchant's involuntary noises vibrating around him, adding to the sensation. He threaded his fingers into Sadri's hair, pulling it away from his face, grabbing fistfuls of it. They worked just fine as reins, he thought. Pushing further into the smaller mouth, the elf gagged, tried to lean away, managing nothing but to push himself harder against the mattress, getting less space to breathe. His hands were clamping down on the linens hard, about as hard as Joar was clamping down on his hair.

The merchant's mouth was still anything but skilled, and in a way, Joar cherished that fact. Cherished the way he was so clearly the only one to take this from him. Sadri's continued retching and stifled, soundless whines were what finally pushed Joar over the edge, pulling out entirely, stroking himself rapidly, shooting hot come onto the elf's face, marking his soft, abused lips, his reddened cheeks, staining the blindfold only a little. It painted a truly whorish picture, uncharacteristic for the merchant and unbecoming of the Dragonborn. But the way it tainted him, the way the cloth over his eyes had become blotted with tears, even though he was holding himself together better than last time - it was a sight he knew he would carry with him.

He forced Sadri's knees up to an almost uncomfortable degree, pushing them up against his chest.

"Keep them there," he said, laying down a sharp smack on the exposed back of the elf's thigh. He jolted, unable to see it coming. "And spread yourself."

Slim hands shaking, Sadri first wrapped his arms around his legs, and then untangled himself to instead shamefully part his buttocks. Unable to keep from tensing nervously, his hole clenched and unclenched, out of his control.

Joar did not have it in him to come again, not yet, but he'd learned a thing or two since he'd last taken Sadri. He collected the other two things laid out on the bed, reaching over the merchant's body. The oil, and a broken candlestick, lacking the wide platform meant to hold the candle. It was useless for its purpose, but it was left a short, thick metal rod with three bulb-like sections. He only prepared Sadri briefly, smearing the oil on his rim, minimally using it on the candlestick, just enough so it wouldn't tear the fragile skin. Not nearly enough for it to be painless. The elf was sniffling, still holding his ass open for the Nord, and when he lined the start of the first bulb up against it, the other began to finally work himself up into a now-familiar panic.

"W-wha - sera, what is that?" Sadri's voice was cracking, and he was clearly deeply dreading an answer. So Joar gave him none, only began to push the object inside, getting a long, satisfying gasp in response. He whined high in his throat as the widest part of the bulb was forced against his sensitive hole. When it slipped in, against the resistance, and the second met the skin of his ass, he finally lost all composure, sobbing miserably, almost dropping his hold on his cheeks.

"How m-many more?", he asked, breath hitching in fear.

"Two. And you'll take them without complaining." Joar's words were thick with lust once more as he fed the second bulb into the merchant, slapping his arse again, watching him clench down on the intrusion and mewl in discomfort. He settled into a pattern, pushing the thing in and out slightly while spanking him. Judging by the elf's startled noises, the movement of the candlestick was dragging against some sweet spot.

"Please…", Sadri mumbled. "Don't make me, I don't, don't want to…"

Joar twisted the candlestick harshly, before shoving the rest of the second bulb inside. The elf screamed, not having the time to subdue his sounds.

"What did I just tell you, you useless slum-dweller?" Joar slapped his thigh again, full force. The loud impact echoed. "I told you to take them without complaining, didn't I?"

Sadri wept openly, but the Nord did not heed him, only continued to cruelly fuck him with the unnaturally shaped object. When the final stretch of it slid inside him, the merchant jolted hard, arms coming up to his chest, legs dropping. Joar leaned in close, bit the elf's soft lip, drawing a small bead of blood. Then, he flipped Sadri onto his stomach, pulled him backwards, bent him across the side of the bed, chest laying flat on the mattress. He held him down like that, continuing the relentless violation until the merchant's legs began to tremble uncontrollably.

"Have you learned," Joar said, panting, "to do as you're told?"

"Yes, y-yes-"

The Nord withdrew the candlestick in one motion, letting it fall to the floor. Not all that interested in Sadri's temporarily ruined hole, he took his cock in his hand, needing almost shamefully few uneven jerks to come again, this time on the elf's crack, mixing with the traces of oil.

When he could breathe properly again, he removed the merchant's blindfold. Almost immediately, the other began speaking.

"Sera...serjo...you know I h-have nothing, no money to speak of, but I'll find some way, I swear-" Sadri interrupted himself with a wracking sob. The pain in his eyes was almost unimaginable. "Anything, anything at all, anyth-thing you want, just please...I can't take this again. I can't."

Joar sat down on the mattress, close to the merchant's face. One hand reached out, took a light hold on Sadri's sharp chin, forced his head up to meet his gaze. He looked ruined in every way, lips swollen and bloodied, cheeks reddened by crying, shaking all over.

"You can't?", asked the Nord, as though he were speaking to an idiot. "Why not? It seems to be going just fine, to me."

The elf tried to look away, burning scarlet all the way down his neck.

"You - you know it isn't. Please, serjo. It's unbearable, you  _ know  _ that-"

Joar slapped him.

"And you know damn well I suffer no shortage of money. You can't bribe me into leaving you be, gray-skin. I can get gold somewhere else."

Instantly cracking this last bit of hope, the Nord swore he could see it drain from Sadri's body. Still forcing his head up, he watched the elf's devastated crying harden, watched the trembling of his mouth.

"D-did I...did I…", he tried, barely getting the words out between waves of sobbing, of tears. "...anger you, s-somehow? Why are you d-doing this?"

Joar wondered momentarily why exactly the merchant wanted to know these things - had he not understood the futility of asking yet? Perhaps he simply wanted to make sense of it all after having been thrown into it so suddenly and violently. He was unlucky in that regard, because Joar liked to keep it that way where Sadri was concerned. Clearly the confusion was a pain in itself, one he deserved, and one Joar would not rob him of.

But Revyn Sadri was, in many ways, special, and the Nord found himself entranced by the idea of marking him properly, permanently. It would not do to come back each time to a completely blank canvas. It meant the elf got reprieve that he did not deserve, moments in between their little meetings when you could not see the damage.

No, it would not do.

Joar did not know any fire magic, but there were lanterns in the bedroom doorway. He stood, growling an order at Sadri to stay still that was not needed in the first place, because it seemed the merchant hardly had the willpower to move. He retrieved a long, mostly-blunt blade from one of the drawers in his bedside table, and then crossed the room, baring the lantern's fire. As he held it over the flame, slowly heating the metal, Sadri put the pieces together. Joar heard wrecked whimpers coming from the elf, cut off by nearly hysterical begging.

"N-no, no no  _ no _ , I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have - shouldn't have tried to...forgive me,  _ please _ -"

"Quit whining."

As Joar turned the blade over, the merchant's pleading did not let up, only got quieter, words pouring out of him in streams. Had they still been in the Gray Quarter, he would have been concerned about the noise, once he'd press the metal against Sadri's soft, gray skin. But this was the advantage of taking them to Hjerim, instead.

He considered, not for the first time, what he would ultimately make of the secret room downstairs, the Butcher's old hideout. Perhaps he would use it for this purpose, let its air of darkness stay. Outfit the walls with shackles, find someone discreet he could buy lewder items from. It was an intriguing idea.

Finally feeling like he'd heated the blade enough, the Nord returned to the bed, watching Sadri fruitlessly try to move away from him, eyes wide with horror. Joar placed his free hand on the elf's upper back, pushing him down. He was hyperventilating, now, overwrought with hoarse crying.

"They do this to cattle, you know, and they're not in worse shape for it," said Joar, altogether calm. "You're no better, really."

The elf was already screaming before he laid the flat of the blade against his lower back.

As he kept it there, the scream died somewhere in his throat, giving way to the sort of low, whining groan the Nord had often heard from enemy soldiers after long bouts of painful interrogation.

When he removed the knife, discarding it into a washbasin to cool, there was a broad, raw mark left in its wake, and Sadri was quiet. He was conscious, but only barely, and the only sounds coming from him were the nearly inaudible chattering of teeth. Not from the cold, the fire left the house pleasant even to elves, but from the pain. Joar sat down beside him again, running a hand through the other's damp, coarse hair, avoiding his previous mess.

"You won't magically heal this, not that you can afford it. I'll know if you did anything with it, and I'll only burn you again."

He was trembling hard, violated now in every way, but he managed to nod.

"Good."

Joar sat by him, watching him drift in and out of being conscious, being present. This was the worst pain he'd inflicted on the other, so far, and his body and mind were fighting each other, one struggling to stay alert, the other desperately wanting a break from it all. Which was which, he doubted either of them knew.

There was still time left. Calder would not be returning until the small hours of the morning, and those were still far away. So Joar leaned back on his elbows, tired out from coming twice, and from the branding.

During one of his more aware moments, Sadri shuddered, trying once more to put even the smallest of distance between them, and Joar spoke again.

"I've ruined you. Do you realise that?" His face revealed little, his only motivation being to put the thought in the elf's head, even if he himself cared little for what he did outside their one-sided arrangement. "Even if someone wanted you after this, could you  _ make love  _ to them without thinking of me?"

The elf chewed his swollen lip, closing his eyes, refusing to respond. But the look on his face told Joar he had already known, that the idea was already with him.

"Do I inhabit your dreams, gray-skin?"

Sadri was taken by another wave of sobs, and the Nord knew the answer without being told. He did not push further, only sitting comfortably next to the wreck he'd made of the merchant.

Finally, Joar dipped a cloth in the washbasin, laying it against the burn mark, making Sadri tense up and begin gasping, scrambling for purchase against the sheets, very much awake. The Nord cleaned off the blood, carefully, but any pressure against the ruined skin reignited the pain. It would remain that way for some time, he knew, but for all his vulnerabilities, Sadri wasn't stupid. He doubted he'd let it get infected.

Patience running out with his energy, Joar looked him over.

"Stand up."

Sadri's shoulders raised, trying to protect himself in some way.

"Don't th-think I can…"

"Try."

The Nord was certain he was  _ able  _ to stand, he just needed to steel himself against the hurt it would bring. And he was right, as Sadri slowly pushed himself off the bed to his knees on the floor, and then gingerly tried to stand. Sure, he had to ask Joar in a deliciously shamed voice to help him the last bit of the way, but he was standing nonetheless. Joar helped him back into his clothing, watching him wince when the tunic touched the burn. He ignored the belt, and the elf did not ask for it back, knowing it would sit too close to the fresh wound. He led him back to the staircase, at half the pace, but at the top of the steps, Sadri froze.

Joar was certain that moving downwards would hurt badly, but he was altogether unbothered by that fact. If anything, he was enjoying the distress. Again, it was something that should probably be concerning, but that he did not care to think about. Not when he could do as he liked to the gray-skins and the witch-elves. Yes. In a way, they should be grateful. He was doing it to them, so that he would not do it to anyone who mattered.

Sadri gripped the handrail like a lifeline, taking several minutes to make his way down, and when Joar met him at the bottom of the stairs, there were fresh tears making rivers down his cheeks. He had to aid him, again, when he could not bend enough to put on his boots.

He kissed the elf, looking into his empty, scarlet eyes, savoring it despite the lack of reaction. Then, hands against the merchant's chest, he led him to step backwards until his back hit the wooden door.

He watched Sadri leave, stumbling like a drunk, the pain etched into his features. But it was too late into the night for anyone to be out, to see him on the way. This view was still, in every way, his own.


End file.
